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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26756002">vile and yet devout</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomind/pseuds/nomind'>nomind</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>sunlight dripping off the apricot tree [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Good Girls (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Bathroom Sex, Cunnilingus, F/M, Floor Sex, POV Rio (Good Girls), Rio On His Knees For Beth, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Teasing, Unprotected Sex, Vaginal Sex, Wall Sex, grocery store manager!AU, lowkey brat!Rio, sliiiiight domme!Beth vibes</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:49:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,814</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26756002</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomind/pseuds/nomind</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>“Look, I don’t know which one of these two very <i>fine</i> specimens you’re trying to hit on, but either way, we gotta go,” the small woman – Annie? – says, eyes bouncing between him and JT. “Actually, you should impart some of that cougar wisdom onto my sister, because now that she’s finally free from that useless trashcan of a man we really need to get her laid. Like. Laid-laid. Multiple orgasm laid.”</p><p>hello and welcome to my grocery store manager!AU aka fine ‘n frugal bathroom break</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Annie Marks/Nancy, Beth Boland/Rio, JT/Annie Marks/Nancy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>sunlight dripping off the apricot tree [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2050356</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>240</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>vile and yet devout</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i couldn’t resist. it’s basically just porn except there is the occasional customer complaint. thank you to medievalraven for helping me with / letting me yell about this fic. title taken from sun may rise by tamino.<br/>let's do this!!!!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The fluorescent lights are flickering again. He’s got no time to pay attention much, can only squint in annoyance, already trying to mentally sort through the schedule for next week, when to fit in the check-up of the irrigation system. Better keep those melons damp.</p><p>He should also check with Rosalina about the deliveries, doesn’t want a repeat of last time. Can already feel a headache coming on, whether it’s from the harsh light or the reminder of the clusterfuck of disasters he had to deal with last week. Checks his watch, disappointed to see he’s still got a good three hours left before he can pick up Marcus and—</p><p>“Sir? A customer requested to talk to the manager,” the shy voice of their newest hire interrupts his pondering. Ursula. Some barely out of high school kid with an obvious crush on him, but the self-conscious kind of crush. Like she knows he knows and is rather apologetic about the whole thing but can’t help herself. </p><p>He doesn’t mind much—would rather suffer through being the object of fascination of some harmless employee than those sharkish suburban moms bored out of their fucking minds, so obviously trying to get his attention, so desperately looking for some escape from the comfort of their wealthy lives, their lifeless, predictable marriages.</p><p>He swivels around.</p><p>“Register?”</p><p>“Two,” she quickly says.</p><p>“Thank you, Ursula.” He smiles. She adjusts her glasses, returning his smile, before rushing away.</p><p>He makes his way over to register two, pace languid, feeling his headache grow as he clocks who’s there to complain.</p><p>Of course.</p><p>“Christopher,” Nancy greets him.</p><p>“Nancy, we must stop meeting like this,” he fires back when he arrives at JT’s register. </p><p>She’s stiff as a board, her delicate baby bird arms crossed, cloaked in a powder blue coat that doesn’t have one bit of stray lint or crumb on it. </p><p>He doesn’t know how she manages—aware she’s got a one-year-old, named after a fruit or a state or some other bullshit. He remembers Marcus at that age. Doesn’t think he’s ever gone a day without stains on his clothes.</p><p>Nancy sends him a tight-lipped smile.</p><p>“Cute. Now tell me, why did this laundry detergent give Dakota a rash?”</p><p>Dakota? He can’t tell if that’s the kid, her best friend, her baby daddy, or that tiny angry woman she sometimes brings along, the one who loudly comments on every single fucking thing in sight, including the cashiers. He’s pretty sure JT is gonna file a request to transfer to one of their other locations soon.</p><p>“Do I look like some kinda dermatologist to you?” </p><p>She huffs. “No, you don’t. I own three spas and while I am pleased you clearly have discovered a skincare routine that works for you, I am not looking for your expertise on the subject, nor do I appreciate this tone.”</p><p>“Great, well then maybe you know,” he volleys back, already tired of having to answer for something that has nothing to do with him.</p><p>Nancy frowns, glancing at the detergent in her hands. </p><p>He makes eye contact with JT, who’s rummaging with the display near the register. He raises his eyebrows. JT shrugs, giving Nancy a once-over. </p><p>“Nance! Oh, Nancy-boo! I’ve found you your precious sea salt infused caramel dessert things! I <i>told </i>you, I know how to do groceries, okay?” The tiny, angry woman joins them by the register with far more noise than necessary, dumping a few more products onto the conveyor belt, two bottles of their cheapest bourbon clinking together as they crash down onto it. </p><p>“Oh! Who is this?” she immediately asks, eyes roving his body. He sighs.</p><p>“I’m the manager. Are we done here?” </p><p> “Yes, yes, manager, thank you for your assistance. Now, begone!”</p><p>“What? Annie, I—” Nancy starts, voice strained.</p><p>“No, no, we have to go. I just got a call from Beth announcing that she’s finally signed the divorce papers, so we don’t have time for your adventures in cougar town, okay?” </p><p>Rio snorts. He wouldn’t exactly call Nancy’s continual complaints that. Honestly, if there’s one thing that is bound to shrivel up his balls it’s the sound of a white woman asking to speak to the manager.</p><p>“Look, I don’t know which one of these two very <i>fine</i> specimens you’re trying to hit on, but either way, we gotta go,” the small woman – Annie? – says, eyes bouncing between him and JT. “Actually, you should impart some of that cougar wisdom onto my sister, because now that she’s finally free from that useless trashcan of a man we really need to get her laid. Like. Laid-laid. Multiple orgasm laid.”</p><p>“What? I’m not trying to hit on them, I’m trying to file a complaint! You know Dakota has a rash!”</p><p>Annie waves a hand, knocking into the display JT so meticulously set up, sending packets of skittles scattering. She doesn’t even blink. Neither does JT, too absorbed into the Phil Collins song that just came on the radio.</p><p>“Yeah. Kids get rashes. Happens all the time. Besides, isn’t it possible our useless ex-husband forgot to use the diaper powder instead?”</p><p>Our ex-husband, plural?</p><p>Shit, <i>he</i> needs to transfer to a different location. He can’t stand the desperate housewife crowd.</p><p>“If that’s all,” he interjects, nodding his head backwards. He turns around and leaves before he can get an answer.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>He’s making his way back to the breakroom five days later when he notices a Venus-looking woman hurrying past him, her shopping cart nearly barreling into one of the displays as she makes her way through the store. He takes in the swell of her ass in her filthily tight mom jeans while he pockets his phone, already distracted from Rhea’s text about possibly signing up Marcus for soccer practice, and figures—maybe a closer look won’t hurt.</p><p>The woman is all frazzled haste, but not the <i>completely</i> uncontrolled kind, like that mom dragging along five kids to the self-checkout, yelling about the prices of organic diapers and whatnot. She’s got a focus about her, eyes scanning a grocery list while stalking down aisle six with determination. He clocks the beige mom bag she’s clutching as she frantically tries to reach something from the top shelf, her small hand grasping at a can of diced tomatoes.</p><p>No wedding ring. Good.</p><p>“Shit,” she mutters when she pushes the can further back onto the shelf instead of the other way around.</p><p>“Can I help you,” he prompts when he’s sauntered closer, making her jump and turn around with a scream.</p><p>He tilts a brow as she clutches—honest to God <i>clutches</i>—her chest. She relaxes slightly when their eyes meet.</p><p>“You scared me,” she confesses, somewhat breathless. He notices he doesn’t hate the sound of her voice like that. Doesn’t hate the look of those plump lips either, nor of the way her chest strains against her floral blouse.</p><p>“Didn’t mean to,” he says, only partially lying, eyes roaming over her legs, the curve of her hips, the magnificent pair of tits she’s sporting. Doesn’t feel guilty about that either, aware she’s returning the favor, her eyes zeroing in on the ink on his neck, her mouth opening slightly. Alluringly so.</p><p>“So, can I?” </p><p>He meets her eyes, licks his lips. She watches, enthralled. Shakes herself out of whatever dirty thoughts the action spiked clear as day.</p><p>“Sorry?”</p><p>He laughs quietly. Leans in closer. Lets his tongue poke between his teeth. Hums.</p><p>“Can I help you with anything?” </p><p>She swallows. A blush speeds across her pretty face, making the brightness of her eyes stand out more, somehow. </p><p>He shouldn’t do this. Really, shouldn’t. Instead, he should check with Rosalina about the delivery that’s scheduled for next Tuesday. </p><p>Still. He wants to see if she’ll bite.</p><p>He blinks, waiting.</p><p>“Well?”</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>They shuffle into the bathroom with haste, carelessness—he doesn’t even think to switch on the light or warn her about the bucket and mop still draped across the wall. Maybe he should’ve—she nearly trips, starts bitching as soon as her legs make contact with the bucket, jumping as if attacked by a wild tiger, not a lifeless cleaning device—but what does he know, maybe that’s the stuff of horrors for a suburban mama like her. She looks the type to get all cranky when her favorite brand of cleaning supplies is out of stock. </p><p>He’s quickly distracted from his musings when she gets her bearings and fucking pounces on him in a second, nasty set of nails immediately sinking into his neck. Shit, she’s all up in his arms, pressing her chest into his, dragging his face to hers when he realizes—maybe he’s the one being attacked by a wild tiger.</p><p>“Kiss me,” she demands. He can’t help the smirk.</p><p>“Nah.”</p><p>“No?”</p><p>She sounds so affronted. It’s cute. </p><p>He licks his lips, zeroing in on her cupid’s bow, the soft dimple in her chin, the pink, kissable lips in between. Lets his eyelids flutter, glancing down at her.</p><p>“Nah, you do it.”</p><p>She huffs. Rolls her eyes. Meets his with something in them clearly asking -- are you serious? </p><p>“Come on, darlin’. You want something, come and get it,” he urges. She snarls, drags her nails down further, probably draws blood—he’ll have to wash this shirt before his next shift.</p><p>Still, nothing. She just stares at him with those big doe eyes, shimmering unfairly brightly in the unlit bathroom smelling of cleaning soda. It dawns on him that this woman is trying to beat him at his own game. </p><p>He clicks his tongue. “Fine.”</p><p>So he buries his face in her neck, starts sucking there—surely, she’ll understand what he’s doing, knows he isn’t gonna kiss her ‘till she begs—while working a hand down to the zipper of her jeans. He wants to get her naked.</p><p>She moans when his teeth meet her shoulder and his hand yanks her blouse open, not caring that much about the buttons clattering onto ground until she hisses.</p><p>“Nice move, jackass. Now how am I supposed to walk out of here?”</p><p>“Nicely fucked out, preferably,” he replies without missing a beat, rolling his eyes at the thought of any future in which she doesn’t leave this bathroom unable to walk straight.</p><p>Something guttural leaves her mouth—a wanton noise, really—and it drags his face closer to hers, makes him give in and kiss her.</p><p>She responds immediately, hands clutching at his shoulders, his skull, her tongue possessive and demanding in his mouth. He moves his hands to her ass, lifts her up, pushes her against the wall next to the sink, as she fucks her tongue into his mouth, wraps her legs around him.</p><p>“Don’t worry, I’ll get you a shirt,” he mumbles, because he doesn’t want her mind distracted with practicalities when he fucks her into the wall, figuring he can sneak away and steal somebody’s uniform later. Or maybe get his spare hoodie from his car.</p><p>He puts her down and works a hand to her unbuttoned jeans, pulling them off of her, before getting his hands on her soft thighs and hiking her up again. It doesn’t take long before she’s shrugging off her blouse, letting it float to the bathroom floor while kissing his neck, biting at the wing of his tattoo.</p><p>He lets his hands grab at those lush looking tits like he’s wanted to since he watched her barrel down aisle six with so much concentration, using the rest of his body to pin her to the wall. Drags down one of the lace cups, and starts playing with her nipple while unbuckling his belt. She keens, sucks his earlobe into her mouth, and he pushes a finger inside her thong to drag through her curls before swiping at her opening. </p><p>He tears her thong clean off her body before pushing two fingers into her pussy, pumping them slowly.</p><p>“Fuck me,” she pants before biting on his lobe, scratching his shoulders. He spreads the wetness he finds around and rubs her clit with one hand while dropping his jeans, pushing down his underwear to let his cock jump free.</p><p>“Come on,” she urges, pulling at his shirt ‘till he’s the one losing buttons, and he growls, lines up his cock.</p><p>“You ready,” he asks, teasing.</p><p>“Just do it,” she barks, cheeks glowing a fiery red, her neck blotchy, her nipples pebbled.</p><p>He gives her a kiss.</p><p>“Ask me nicely.”</p><p>She gives him a look. </p><p>“Are you fucking serious?”</p><p>He nods, eyes roaming over her face, reveling in the frustration he finds. She puffs.</p><p>“This <i>is</i> me asking nicely.”</p><p>“What is?”</p><p>“Me, wrapped around you, <i>naked</i>, letting you have me any way you want. What else do you want?”</p><p>He resists the temptation to point out she’s still wearing a bra. Doesn’t resist the temptation to point out her blatant untruth.</p><p>“I think I am the one letting you have me any way <i>you</i> want,” he notes.</p><p>She just hums. </p><p>Really. Just makes some pleased sound, like she’s proud he managed to figure that out all on his own.</p><p>"No need to give me the illusion of control here, darlin’,” he adds, because he’s not one to shy away from the controlling types. Usually indulges their demands quite happily, and well, at that. </p><p>She smiles, flashing a pointy tooth. “Good.” </p><p>“Good,” he parrots.</p><p>“Good,” she repeats. “Now fuck me.”</p><p>Their eyes meet. She looks a new kind of fiery. He wants all of it. So he nods, confirming he’ll give into her demand. It’s no hardship.</p><p>No hardship <i>at all</i>, sinking into her warm pussy, dragging out a curse as he bottoms out.</p><p>“Fuck, sweetheart, you feel so fuckin’ good,” he groans, letting his forehead rest on her shoulder. She clenches around him.</p><p>“Good. Now, sweetheart. <i>Fuck. Me</i>.” 	</p><p>She repeats the demand with rapidly fading patience and a clear need. He decides he better give her what she’s asking for, lest she goes looking for somebody else to pipe her down good. He’s got no doubt in his mind just about anybody would fill his position willingly, and eagerly so.</p><p>So he does. Starts fucking her into the wall without wasting a worry on too much, too fast, or too loud—figures she knows how to get him where she wants. He snaps his hips, burying himself to the hilt again and again, loving the sound her wet pussy makes, slamming into her without letting up while she <i>wails</i>, settles her nails into his neck.</p><p>“Oh, yes, yes, <i>yes</i>,” she whimpers, clenching around him, as he moves to get his mouth on her tits. Vows to contribute more actively to the reddish marks appearing on her skin. Sucks and bites on her nipples while driving his dick deeper inside her cunt, quickening his pace. She mewls in response, leaving him to bury his face in her neck, start planting hickeys there.</p><p>He can feel the sweat drips down his back, his torn shirt sticking to it.</p><p>“Fuck, so good,” he chokes out, and she purrs.</p><p>“Oh, yes, <i>yes</i>—I’m gonna—” </p><p>She smacks his shoulder, arches her back, moaning deliriously as she cums on his cock.</p><p>“Shit,” he curses, fucking her faster, wanting to fill her pulsing cunt.</p><p>“Cum for me,” she demands, using her nails to draw blood, as if punctuating her command. His hips stutter, and it takes three, four pumps and he’s blowing his load, easing his thrusts as he cums inside of her.</p><p>“Oh, fuck,” he sighs into her neck, feeling utterly spent.</p><p>She scratches the back of his head, shushes him.</p><p>“You did good,” she says, and shit, who the hell did he just fuck?</p><p>They burst apart a moment later, somewhat unnecessarily, both still panting, and she stumbles into the wall by the door, inadvertently hitting the light switch. The fluorescents hum, their harsh glow leaving them both to adjust their eyes as they catch their breath, leaving the aftermath naked and bare.</p><p>It’s a vision, too. The aftermath. </p><p>He’s got his pants to his ankles, two buttons of his shirt torn thanks to her claws, and she’s no better, in nothing but her bra, one of her tits spilling over the lace cup, her pretty pink nipple pebbled hard. Her thong, in an orange matching her bra, lies torn, discarded on the floor with the rest of her clothes. She’s red all over—his proud doing, hickeys beautifully littering the soft skin of her neck, her chest.</p><p>“That was—”  </p><p>“Yeah,” he agrees.</p><p>She hums, eyes tracking over his body. He takes a step closer. Takes two fingers, dips them into her cunt. She exhales loudly, like she’s been holding her breath. He lazily plays with her pussy, the remnants of his cum dripping down her thighs. He pulls his fingers from her center, licks their juices off of his hand. She watches in rapture.</p><p>“Kiss me,” he says.</p><p>“Earn it.”</p><p>He smirks. Oh, she likes to play.</p><p>He presses in close, lets his mouth hover near hers, licks his lips. “And how,” he starts, sucking her earlobe in his mouth, “do you suggest,” sinks his teeth in the delicate little lobe, “I do that?”</p><p>She brings those claws back, brings them to his neck.</p><p>“You made a mess. Gotta clean it up.”</p><p>And with that, she sinks her nails into his skin, decidedly dragging him downwards. He drops to his knees with no hesitation, buries his head in the curls near her mound. Starts licking around her opening, not giving her what she wants just yet. </p><p>Bites a thigh. Gets an honest growl.</p><p>So he tongues inside her pretty cunt, licking and sucking his way around, slurping noisily as she keeps her small hands delicately balanced on the top of his head. He reaches for her ass, gets a nicely firm grip on both cheeks, as he buries his nose in her pussy, only distantly aware he’s getting hard again. Feeling particularly incentivized by her sharp nails in hair, he laps at her cunt with vigor.</p><p>She hums softly. Pats his head.</p><p>“Stop.”</p><p>He listens immediately. Pulls back, meets her eyes from his position on the floor. Sends her a questioning look.</p><p>She peers down at him, lips twitching in thought. She tilts her head, sizing him up.</p><p>“Okay,” she nods to herself, rests both hands on his shoulders, and sinks down on his lap.</p><p>She takes one hand, grabs his cock, and puts him inside of her, impaling herself onto him fully. Sighs, pleased.</p><p>“Mmm, like that,” she hums, eyes closed, and if he wasn’t absolutely hooked before, he is now. No way back—not that he pays mind to any way out of this. Not with her tight pussy stretching around him again. Not with her starting a sensual, steady rhythm, bouncing on his dick with no preamble.</p><p>“Ah,” she cries, eyes flying open when she feels his hand play with her clit.</p><p>“You like that?” he asks, because he’s pretty sure he’ll lose a hand or a finger if he displeases her somehow, if he ruins her plan, considering the serious set of her brows, the resolute way she sank down on him.</p><p>“It’s nice,” she replies. Not for the first time he wonders who exactly he propositioned.</p><p>“Nice,” he echoes, slightly incredulous.</p><p>“Yes. Nice. Pleasant. Lovely,” she rattles while he toys with her clit.</p><p>“What are you, a thesaurus?” </p><p>“Just shut up and let me ride you,” she grumbles.</p><p>“Yes, ma’am.” </p><p>“Don’t call me that,” she tells him, voice flat, pussy fluttering around him.</p><p>“What should I call you, then?” he asks, driving his dick into her pussy while clutching the back of her neck. </p><p>“Just fuck me,” she instructs, holding onto his shoulders. “God, you’re so annoying. Do you always talk this much during sex?”</p><p>“Yes,” he confirms right away, because he does. He is vocal about his passions, so what?</p><p>“Hmm, we’ll have to work on that,” she assesses, almost like an afterthought, riding him with enthusiasm.</p><p>“Do we?”</p><p>He kinda likes the implication that he is worthy of her mentorship.</p><p>“Yes. Lesson one: shut the fuck up and fuck me.”</p><p>He grins. Can already feel himself develop a new kink for her annoyance with him. Moves his head closer to hear ear. </p><p>“Okay,” he whispers, before grabbing her hips and dragging her down while pushing back into her, starting a rapid rhythm, now fiercely determined to get her off as quickly as possible.</p><p>“Do you always have to have the last word?” she groans, clearly not appreciating him for who he is.</p><p>He slams into her cunt over and over, lets her grab at his ears, his neck, his shoulders.</p><p>“Well?” she inquires, ever so bossy, voice strained with exertion, fucking herself on his cock with devotion.</p><p>“Oh, I’m sorry, I thought I wasn’t supposed to talk.”</p><p>She closes her eyes. Bumps her head against his shoulder.</p><p>“Why are you determined to be as infuriating as possible? Do you think that’s ensuring you a repeat of this?”</p><p>“Who says I’m looking for a repeat,” he asks, letting one of his hands roam over her shoulders, holding her tight to him. </p><p>He can feel his orgasm approaching, so turned on by this overbearing little minx bouncing on his hard cock like nobody’s business.</p><p>“Please. We both know you’re gonna be cumming to the memory of this for months as soon as I leave you here to clean up this mess,” she scoffs, clearly unimpressed with him.</p><p>“Mmm,” he purrs, letting his eyes stray to their shared mess of clothes strewn across the floor, “gonna leave me your thong, then? Let me keep it as a souvenir?”</p><p>“Maybe. If you behave,” she tells him, clinging to him while he drills into her. </p><p>He’s pretty confident there’s no way she’ll let him have that pleasure, best behavior or not.</p><p>“Good. That way I can use it to build a shrine dedicated to you,” he bites back.</p><p>She halts her movements, making him slow to a stop. She pulses around his cock, squeezes his shoulders. He can feel his heartbeat, appropriately erratic.</p><p>“Don’t think I won’t leave you here to get off by yourself.” The words are cold, their temperature so unlike the purr of her previous statements.</p><p>He tilts a brow. </p><p>Waits for it. Doesn’t know her at all, but knows she’ll do it, if she wants to. </p><p>She tuts, lips pursed.</p><p>“Lose the attitude and you might actually be a good lay,” she observes, scathingly. Drags her nails across his chest, eyes eagerly taking in the movement.</p><p>He hums. Knows that’s probably about as good as it gets, as far as praise goes. Lets his eyes glaze over, drags them over her body. Moves them up again.</p><p>“Gonna let me eat you?”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>He sighs. He tried. Looks at the floor—it really does need a cleaning.</p><p>She grabs him by his chin, scratching a nail over his beard. His eyes move to hers immediately, liking how she likes to demand his attention. </p><p>She strokes a hand through his hair with sweet, soothing movements.</p><p>“No,” she repeats, emphasizing the word, “because I want to cum like this. I just want you to listen to me.”</p><p>He nods solemnly. Feels like he’s finally getting a glimpse of who she is outside of these walls.</p><p>“Can you? Listen to me?” Her voice sounds small. She looks more vulnerable now than she did before, behind the shopping cart, clad in her innocent suburban mama act.</p><p>He moves a hand to her face, slowly. Tucks her hair behind her ear with dedicated movements. Nods again.</p><p>She smiles shyly. </p><p>“You can speak.”</p><p>He rests his head on her sternum.</p><p>“Thank you,” he says, hoping she realizes he’s not just talking about the permission to say something. Wants to give her a kiss, but waits, hovering near her face. She gives him a miniscule nod.</p><p>He kisses her. Slowly. Lets himself enjoy the feeling of her soft lips. Give her some sweet pecks instead of bringing the haste that characterized their movements before. She exhales, relaxes. Leans into him.</p><p>“Thank you,” she mutters. And once again, he is reminded he has no idea what—<i>who</i>—he has gotten himself into.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It’s been close to a week since he’s been around—<i>inside</i>—the most enthralling woman he’s ever met. He’s not sure if that says something about the company he keeps or about the absolute enigma of a person he had somewhat life-altering sex with.</p><p>Probably both.</p><p>Either way, she—the Venus whose name he never learned, too busy trying to please her—almost feels like a mirage, because the rest of his life feels so starkly different from her. Case in point: the loud voice currently filling his eardrums one aisle over.</p><p>He sighs when the recognition hits.</p><p>He has half the mind to duck out of here as quickly as possible, when he realizes hiding from his customers may not be the best policy. </p><p>So he swivels around, figuring he should face his fears and all that, and swoops into the next aisle, where Annie is busy monologuing. </p><p>“No, I mean it. We need to get you laid by someone other than your disgusting ex-husband. I can’t stand the thought of him being your last sexual conquest. I can’t. So just trust me—this place somehow has some of the finest people I’ve ever laid eyes on.”</p><p>He freezes when he sees who Annie is directing her endorsement at. Meets her eyes, still the same pulsing blue. Lets his eyes roam over her body—can easily picture without the tight floral dress she’s currently wearing, remembers what her soft skin looks like covered with marks from his teeth.</p><p>“I think at least one of them could be a good palate cleanser for you,” Annie continues. “Since me and Nance found our latest beau here, I can vouch for it. There must be something about this place. Maybe the produce aisle mist is infused with pheromones? Who’s to say.”</p><p>For a moment, he doesn’t know his next course of action. Until, of course, Annie loudly interrupts their no doubt mutual reliving of a certain bathroom break. </p><p>“Oh! You’re here. Good. So, this is my recently divorced sister who’s in need of a good dicking. Interested? Blink twice.”</p><p>“Annie!” she shrieks, indignant.</p><p>He remembers being on the receiving end of her indignance. Can’t stop looking at her. Quickly clasps his hands behind his back so he doesn’t do something stupid, like so much as twitch in her direction. </p><p>“I know, I know, it’s too soon or whatever. I just think you deserve someone who can show you a good time. Someone who can teach you not to be all… shy and repressed and vanilla. And let’s be honest, this man looks like he could. I mean. Talk about BDE,” Annie sighs, oblivious to the tension flittering between her sister and him.</p><p>“Talk about what?”</p><p>“Yeah, I don’t think your sister needs me to teach her all that,” he says, slowly, jumping into the conversation with a naked smirk crawling onto his face. </p><p>Her blush deepens.</p><p>Shit. He’s even more turned on now. Can’t believe she’s got the whole stiff suburban mama act down so well her own sister thinks she’s vanilla. Vividly remembers her mewls, her sharp nails, her commandeering tone, her shoving his face into her crotch. Shy is not the word for it.</p><p>“But if she wants to teach me some more, I’m down,” he adds, licking his lips. Annie’s eyes widen.</p><p>“What! Elizabeth Irene Marks! Did you have sex? With this hot stranger? Without telling me?”</p><p><i>Elizabeth</i>. It suits her.</p><p>“What do you say, Elizabeth? Gonna give me your number so I can fuck you somewhere that is not my place of employment?” </p><p>He can’t tear his eyes away from her. Watches it play out on her face, torn between keeping up her front with her sister and a hot spark of desire. Something distinctly lacking regret.</p><p>“Oh my God, you had <i>public</i> sex with this hot stranger and didn’t tell me?”</p><p>“Um. Sir? A customer is asking for you at register six,” somebody nervously interrupts. He turns around, meeting Ursula’s wide eyes.</p><p>He glances back at Elizabeth. Takes in the red cheeks, the embarrassed way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear with slow movements. </p><p>He clears his throat.</p><p>“Thank you, Ursula. I will be right there.”</p><p>He turns around when he feels a hand on his. Elizabeth’s got her back to him, facing Annie, shielding her body with her grocery cart, but her small hand grasps his. Squeezes. He looks down. Expects to see her trying to slip him a piece of paper with her number on it, or a time and a location.</p><p>Instead, is left clutching the tattered orange fabric of a lace thong.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>anyway hope u enjoyed. bye now!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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